


Knightly Allerigies

by Nightzilla333



Category: Original Work
Genre: 2nd person POV, Fingering, Ghost Sex, Other, Reader fic - Freeform, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightzilla333/pseuds/Nightzilla333
Summary: Re-uploaded! I had a look at ao3's ToS and apparently, monster fucking is allowed in original work. YAY!!This was a quick little gift-fic for geekinlikeaboss and her lovely wife, doe-eyed-monster-draws





	Knightly Allerigies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geekinlikeaboss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekinlikeaboss/gifts).



You met him at work. He was sweet. Funny. Smelt a bit like dust, but everything in the old castle did. Old places usually do, no matter how well or how often the building is cleaned. The smell of dust is a mark of time, like the rings of a tree.

You met him in the front hall, by the suits of armor. He was shining them. You thought it was weird that a "knight" was shining the armor and not out on the training grounds. The staff, you included, dressed up as the jobs you pretended to do. You were a servant. You cleaned. He was a knight, he belonged with the other knights. You told him so. He laughed. Patted you on the head. Rude.

You never saw him out of uniform, and you don't really hang out with work friends. They were work friends, not... friend friends. Honestly, you consider yourself pretty smart, even being able to use your degree with a major in history and a minor in theatre to snag yourself a snazzy job at an actual castle that does historical re-enactments. So, it always bothers you that it took so fucking long to realise that he wasn't a knight. That he wasn't a re-enactor. That he wasn't even alive. That he was a ghost possessing a suit of armor.

When you did find that out... well, what can you say? You always had a thing for masks, and you always have been a bit of a monster fucker. Dating wasn't always the easiest, since he wasn't able to leave the castle and you weren't allowed to spend the night, but you made it work. Or, well, the girl who played the jester role figured it out. She was a witch. She made a spell for the both of you that basically looked like really shiny glitter. But, sprinkle some on and he was able to leave.

It was a good thing you drove your own car, because public transport would have been super awkward with a full suit of armor. Most (all) of these dates took place in your home, where you would order take out (usually pizza or chinese). He wouldn't eat anything, because he couldn't. You would watch old slasher films, starting with the 'A Nightmare on Elm Street' franchise and hitting all the classics.

You've been dating for three years, and you've done some stuff. Mostly you played with yourself while watched and directed what you should do. You've been getting by (and off) just fine.

The ride to your home was interesting. He was rather touchy, which can get kind of painful because, you know, cold metal suit of armor. The metal casing warms up, eventually. Sometimes you stick heat packs on him to speed up the process. You pick up pizza on the way home.

You change as soon as you get home, handing the box to your date. Then you put on a favourite flick, 'Hellraiser', pile your plate up with pizza, snuggle into the nest you built out of blankets and pillows, and go to town on your food.

By the time credits were rolling along the screen he had wormed his way behind you, gauntlets removed and resting beside your plate on the coffee table. The rest of the armor isn't comfortable - not even in the slightest. But the discomfort was worth him purring commentary into your ear during the movie. Especially because he never comes into your nest. He doesn't like the feeling of the fabric being caught on his metal joints. The leather of his gloves stroked the skin on your arm, and he carefully and gently nuzzled into your neck. You're glad you keep your hair short because he loves to nuzzle. Slowly, one of his hands moves from your arm to your shirt, plucking at the buttons in a question. You smile and press a kiss to his helmet. "Go for it," you whisper.

His hand makes quick work of the buttons, and your shirt slides off with a shimmy. He grabs a pillow and blanket from your nest and place it against himself before tugging you back. The cushioning protects you from the hard plates cutting into your skin. The gloves work at you chest, tugging and twisting your nipples. You press you head back into his shoulder, a breathy moan leaving your mouth. "Too many clothes." You manage to gasp out. He chuckles and allows you stand.

Your pants and underwear hit the floor with a soft noise and you quickly climb back into his lap, facing him and pressing a kiss to (where you assumed was) his mouth. His hands drift down your stomach before circling around your hips to grab at your ass. "You're," you gasp when one of his fingers gently presses against your hole. "You're rather handsy today."

He nuzzles against you again. You smile and pull back. "Baby, we're gonna need lube if we take this any further."

He smiles, or, rather, you get the impression he is smiling. You can only assume he's smiling because of the fact that his face is technically a helmet and this is reality and not a comic book. The helmet is made out of metal, and cannot change shape. You press another kiss to his helmet and stand. "I'm very glad your helmet doesn't change shape." You say as you walk away. There's a clinking noise behind you. And a thud.You smirk, knowing the he got tangled in your nest.

You already have the lube out by the time he makes it to your bedroom. In fact, you're already have a couple of fingers inside of yourself by the time he gets to your bedroom. The pose you were in wasn't really comfortable, going for more of a pornographic image just to get a rise out of him. It works, because he growls and launches himself towards the bed. Stupid ghost and his stupid ghost abilities.

You drop out of the stupid porno pose and pull your fingers out, but keep your legs spread. You coo at him and wiggle your fingers as he crawls on the comforter towards you. He lays between your legs, careful to make sure that the metal didn't press into your skin.

Your hole drips with lube, and the noise he makes makes you shiver. You feel a leather finger trace around you, gathering up the liquid before pushing in. You gasp. He hums, pleased, and pumps the finger in and out. It feels weird. He doesn't do this, get this involved when you have sex. And the glove doesn't feel like skin and the finger is bigger than yours. It doesn't hurt. It's just strange.

He pushes another finger in and you groan, rocking your hips down onto the digits. You watch him through hooded eyes. You watch as he drops the chin into the blanket, the eye slit trained onto where his fingers plunged in back and forth. You groan, clenching down on the fingers, hips jerking and repeating the motions. Up, down, clench. Up, down, clench. Heat builds and bubbles in your groin. So close, so close...

It wasn't the sneeze, exactly, that startles your orgasm away. It wasn't even the jerk of the fingers inside of you (which wasn't exactly pleasant). It was the sudden and sharp pain in your thigh as his arm jerked and the metal plates cut in deep.

"Ow..." you whimper out. He immediately takes off to the bathroom. You put pressure above where the cut is. It doesn't do much to stop the bleeding (aka: next to none), but you were planning on washing the comforter and sheets afterwards anyways. He's back in a flash, first aid kit clutched in his hands.

"Sorry," he whispers. His voice sounds raspy from disuse, but that's because of how he died. A lance to the throat tends to destroy the vocal cords. He doesn't tend to speak above a whisper because of it.

"It's okay." You take the first aid kit from him and open it. A small bottle of hydrogen-peroxide lays within, but no cotton balls or swabs to dab it into the wound itself. "Fuck it." You pour the liquid over the cut. It bubbles and you hiss. He floats around uncertainly, and you chuck the now empty bottle at him. "You're hovering. It's okay. Not as bad as the one on my back." You take care of the wound quickly. "What was that, by the way?"

"A sneeze?"

"How did you sneeze?!"

"I have allergies!"

"YOU'RE A GHOST!"


End file.
